On the Run with a Gun
by TheWrongJedi
Summary: Three months after Hydra has been exposed, Natasha see's familiar faces showing up at her doorstep. What could be a happy reunion ends up with a road trip to gather up the Avengers to once again save the world. The problem? Natasha finds the task difficult to accomplish after waking up in an old Hydra facility with the man who saved her from death.
1. Familiar Faces

_Chapter 1_

* * *

_"She's exposed, and it's the only thing she knows."_

* * *

Her whole life, Natasha entrusted SHIELD with keeping her under the radar. Everything she ever was had been locked away in some part of the world only Nick Fury had ever seen. Now, it's her own fault that when she walks the street, people give her second glances. The irony of it amazes her. She was the one person more obsessed than anyone about keeping the_ Black Widow_ a secret, but after years of glances behind her back and going days without sleep, it was her own hand that spilled all her past.

Legally, with the help of Nick, she's dead. But in the rare moments when she can't afford to be dead, she's Natavia Romms. It's an alias they've never given her before, but it works, and Natasha isn't complaining.

Anything that keeps enemies at bay and out of the way works for her.

Despite all the security precautions he's given her though, Natasha doesn't stop sleeping with a gun under the pillow. It's not safe anywhere, not when there are still people who work for Hydra out there, not when there are still people who remember her face from the Internet and back-alleys.

There are nights when, as she throws the locks in place in her little run down apartment, she worries to the point of insanity. Clint hasn't communicated with her in over a year, Steve hasn't called in on his progress with finding Bucky, and worst of all- no one has come to kill her.

It's what scares her the most, keeps her up at night. She knows that eventually they will come for her, whoever _they_ might be, and get her without a fair fight.

It would be more peaceful to go in sleep, she thinks, but Natasha has seen too many people, people better than her, die in the worst ways possible.

She doesn't think she deserves to go out peacefully.

So Natasha keeps one hand curled under her head and the other gripping the barrel of the gun painfully tight when she finally shuts her eyes and drifts to sleep.

It's three months and two weeks after she has gone into hiding that she hears the knock at the door.

She had been sitting in the windowsill overlooking the streets below when it happened. Immediately, she grabbed the gun under the table and made her way toward the door, taking each step painstakingly careful and measuring her breath. When she reached the locks, Natasha pointed the gun upward and counted to ten. When she got to seven, though, a voice called out to her.

"_Natasha_..."

He sounded weak, and bruised, and hurt.

He sounded like _**Steve**_.

"Steve..." Natasha whispered, unlocking the door but keeping the gun folded under her jacket and tucked in her pants. She threw open the door when she got to ten, not expecting to see as much blood as she did.

When Steve walked through the door though, and she got a better look, Natasha realized it wasn't Steve's blood, but Sam's- who was limp in Steve's arm- his entire body unconscious.

"What happened?" Natasha asked, running toward the bathroom for the first aid kit. When she ran back into the living room, she saw Steve had Sam laying down on the floor. The blood was oozing from a spot near his abdomen, and Steve was pushing down on it hard with both hands.

Natasha knelt down, grabbed a pair of tweezers, and stuck them down in the bullet hole. Sam grunted in pain, but otherwise didn't stir.

"There was a clue missing," Steve sighed, falling back against the wall and breathing heavily. "We... We had to find you. But neither of us saw... saw the sniper on the roof. Natasha," Steve sounded urgent suddenly, and Natasha looked to him right as she got the bullet out. "He's... He's coming..."

Natasha turned toward the door, the one still wide open, and turned back to Steve.

"You know how to clean a bullet wound?" She asked, clicking her gun into place and heading torwed the door.

"I was in the army..." Steve shook his head, grabbing a syringe and the alcohol and getting to work.

Natasha strode out of the apartment, into the hall, and shot, once, straight up.

Thirteen seconds went by before the first bullet called back in response.

Natasha side stepped easily, hooked a cable to the stair rail, and jumped over the side. As she fell, the wire hooked to her by the waste, she shot straight up eight times.

She heard a man cry out, and when her hands hit the bottom floor of the apartment building, and the screaming and panic of the people inside ensued, Natasha knew she had created chaos.

She sliced the cable, got to her feet and ran back up the stairs as everyone else flew down. In her opinion, they weren't going fast enough, so Natasha hit the fire alarm and when the water started to pour, she spotted her target.

He was coming straight for her.

Natasha was ready though. Gun loaded and widow's bites activated, she flipped over the rail and landed straight in front of him. He threw the first punch, successfully hitting air while tearing open the bullet wound in his shoulder further apart, and toppled forward. Natasha hit him in the knee, sending him down, and tazed him for a good ten seconds before he was down completely.

She threw herself on top of him, pinned him to the ground, and gritted her teeth.

"Tell me who you are, now!"

The man coughed, wheezed, and when he finally caught his breath, he laughed.

"I think you already know the answer to that, _Natalia_."

Natasha's eyes went wide, but it didn't surprise her to hear him say it. By now, everyone knew her for the criminal she once was instead of for the hero she tried to be.

"_Hyrda_." She hissed, increasing the pressure she had on his wrists.

"Cut off one head," He smirked at her, then bit down on something in his mouth. Natasha sat back when she realized what it was. "Two shall..."

He never got to finish what he was saying before he began to foam at the mouth. Natasha stood up then, when his head finally hit the floor, and gazed up at the sprinklers as the fire alarm rang clear and loud.

"Great..."


	2. Clint's been Missing

_Chapter 2_

* * *

_"When you're on your own, you look for signs. Sometimes you make them up, sometimes they're actually there, but most of the time you can't tell the difference from the two."_

_- Cecelia Ahern_

* * *

"I guess this mean we're even now, Natasha?"

Natasha managed to crack a smile at Sam's joke, remembering the day not so long ago that he took them in when all of Hydra saw them as a target.

"I guess life got a bit more interesting, huh?"

He grunted as she helped him adjust into the back seat of the car they had just "borrowed," according to Steve, and shook his head, laughing.

"That's one way of putting it."

"Well, buckle up, Sam. It's gonna be one hell of a ride."

Sam's face contorted then, into something almost of regret, and Natasha pretended to not notice as she closed the door to the back seat and opened the one to the front passenger side. Steve was already at the steering wheel, map in hand, and eyebrows knit.

"You alright, gramps?" Natasha asked, one eyebrow raised. Steve managed a weak smile, but otherwise didn't turn to face her at the wise crack.

"We need to get to New York." He said simply, eyes roaming the crinkly paper. His shoulders were tense, almost in the way he looked right before a fight. Natasha had come to recognize his habits, as well as most of the other Avengers, when it came to combat. It was in her nature, something she was taught at an early age. If you can't pinpoint your enemies weakness, you have no advantage.

"Why?"

"Stark."

"You think he'll help?"

"Yes."

"Steve, I don't know if you recently heard about the terrorist about a year ago, but Stark is suit less."

Steve folded up the map, tossed it into Natasha's lap, and started the engine.

"Maybe, but we don't exactly have a terrorist anymore, now do we?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, but for the rest of the trip didn't argue. They made it to a motel before midnight, managing to get a decent room and haul Sam into the bed. He protested to taking it at first, but when he found he couldn't even sit up without the help of either of them, he dozed off.

Natasha, meanwhile, as Steve scoped out the place, re-loaded her guns and charged her wrist gauntlets while Sam snored behind her. Taking out the phone she managed to not forget, the one that had Clint's emergency number on it, Natasha rang up the man she hadn't seen in well over a year and prayed that maybe this time he would finally answer.

All the other line did was ring, and ring, and ring.

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek before pressing the end call button and slamming the phone down onto the table. The noise wasn't loud, but Natasha glanced over to Sam quickly to make sure he hadn't been disturbed.

He didn't move, didn't stir. Natasha sighed, put on her guns safety, and put it into her jackets inside pocket.

Steve didn't return for another fifteen minutes, and in that time, Natasha had managed to make a small bed in the windowsill that overlooked the motel's parking lot. Every few minutes a car would pass on the highway, causing headlights to flicker in and out of the window. Natasha counted each car that passed, how often it passed, from which direction, and how often it came from a certain direction.

Lapses in the time could clue her to enemies. If the same car passed once, they couldn't take any chances.

When Steve walked in, shield in hand, Natasha gazed at him briefly before returning to observe the highway. She heard his footsteps pad around on the carpeted floor before he took a seat across from her on the makeshift bed. Natasha didn't look at him.

"I'll take first watch, Natasha. Get some rest."

Natasha cleared her throat before speaking, too afraid to trust her voice in this instance.

"I got it, Rogers."

There was an awkward silence that followed her, something she feared would ensue the moment she tried to speak. Steve sucked in a sharp breath, then leaned closer to her.

"Natasha... Are you alright?"

"I'll be ok."

"Will you?"

"Just let it go, Rogers."

"Something has to be wrong. You usually aren't short with me unless you're angry, and..."

He didn't speak after she finally caved and wiped away the tears that had been leaking from her eyes since she called Clint, or tried to anyway.

"It's... We're right back where we started Steve. I knew better than to expect that something like this wouldn't happen, but now... and Clint." Natasha whispered, leaning her head back against the wall. "I haven't heard from him in a year. The last time I saw him, he was assigned to some place in Europe. As of seven months ago, he's gone missing."

"I didn't know..." Steve admitted, sounding guilty.

"SHIELD tends not to file missions gone wrong anymore. They presumed Barton dead."

"You don't think he is?"

"He's survived worse."

Steve remained silent for a minute, expression pensive. Natasha eyed him curiously before it dawned on her where his train of thought was leading him.

"Yes," She told him, a quick, painful smile ripping across her face before fading completely. "And no."

Steve jerked slightly, stuttering a bit when he asked, "What?"

"Your question."

"But I didn't even ask any-"

"You didn't have to, Steve. I'm smart, remember?"

He chuckled, then took up the rest of the window and leaned on the wall opposite Natasha.

"I could've loved Clint..." Natasha mused, finishing her answer to Steve's unspoken question. "In another life, at another time. He gave me a chance to redeem myself when anybody else would have just shot me down."

"You wanna talk about it?" Steve looked at her earnestly, and it reminded her of the time back in Sam's apartment when, instead of for leaving her in the rubble and destruction, he carried her away. At the time, she couldn't understand why anyone would want to help her.

_"If it had been the other way around, and it was up to me to save your life, and you be honest with me. Would you trust me to do it?"_

_"I would now."_

She had set him up when she posed that question, challenging him to the opinion she thought he had made of her. He had surprised her though, and if Steve stayed away from the files she leaked about Hydra, maybe it would stay that way.

"It's a long, long backstory, Rogers. Nothing you can't look up on the Internet now."

"You know the only opinion of you I care about is the one I make myself. Stop trying to be difficult Natasha, you have friends, people who care about you. The world isn't out to get you."

"No, just Hydra."

Steve sighed audibly, running his hand over his face and resting his other hand on Natasha's knee.

"When this is all over, and if you want my help, we'll find Clint."

"If we survive, you mean."

"Get some rest, Natasha. We're leaving at five."


	3. Chaos Ensues

_Chapter 3_

* * *

_"I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream."_

_- Sleeping Beauty (1959)_

* * *

"Steve, we need to take Sam to a hospital. There isn't any telling how much blood he lost last night, and combined, our wound cleaning probably didn't cut it. He won't be any help to us if he isn't properly cared for."

"I know..." Steve sighed, running his hand through his hair. "That's where we'll head first. I'd prefer some place closer to New York though. It's getting kinda hard to trust people these days... We don't need to draw unnecessary attention."

"I couldn't agree more."

"You guys know I can hear you, right?"

Both Natasha and Steve turned to see Sam propped up on his elbows, grinning and eyes hazy. He grimaced when he tried to sit up on his own, and his hand shot to the bandaged bullet wound. Natasha glanced at Steve from the corner of her eye, and she noticed he did the same to her.

"How badly does it hurt?" She asked him, grabbing his free hand and hauling him up.

"It doesn't feel _good_, but I've gotten through worse. Give me a few days, I'll be back on my wings."

"We may not have a few days." Steve said, and he looked _guilty, _Natasha noticed, when his eyes landed on Sam's wound, and she was suddenly compelled to tell him once again how it wasn't his fault. Steve always seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Natasha felt like the burden was unnecessary.

"I know, and I'm sorry I'm slowing you down."

"Don't apologize. You've made it with me this far, and maybe even further some day."

Sam clapped Steve on the shoulder. "I hope you find your pal, I know how it feels to lose a friend."

Natasha felt the air shift, and suddenly didn't feel right, like she was somehow intruding on a part of Sam's life that she didn't belong in.

She cleared her throat, readjusted Sam's arm on hers, and started for the door.

"C'mon boys, we don't have time to waste."

* * *

Natasha didn't keep track of how much time passed. The length of the road trip, her eyes were on the rear view mirrors. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but the Black Widow wasn't just about to let her guard down.

She ate when they stopped, but remained in the car. Her face might be too easy to recognize, but the again so was Steve's. They opted for hoodies and thick, black lensed glasses and French accents, (although Natasha was far better at pulling it off than Steve, and it wasn't just because she actually _spoke _French.) Natasha thought, as they rented a hotel room that night, that she could've done a better job at disguising them. Neither of them had the money to buy a whole wardrobe though, and what they had now was as good as it was going to get if they didn't want to be recognized. Combined with Sam's wallet, they barely just got the hotel room for a night.

"Ain't got a dollar to my name now." Sam shook his head, plopping down onto the lounge chair in the room and grunting. "Ya know, sometimes I regret ever making friends with you two. Should've known the day you knocked on my door."

Natasha smiled mischievously at him. "C'mon, Sam. You don't mean that."

"But I do!" He laughed, then groaned. "Gotta learn to stay away from 90 year olds who look 25 and beautiful woman with red hair from now on, it's really taxing my health."

"So you think I'm beautiful now?" Natasha raised an eyebrow, smirking. Sam just shook his head and sighed.

"Can't deny the truth."

"Alright you two," Steve walked into the room then, grumpy grandpa face and all, with pizza in hand. "Tomorrow evening we'll be in New York. I talked to Stark, he said he's getting Banner. Thor's in England, he'll be arriving soon."

"We almost got the whole team together..." Natasha mused, fiddling with a strand of her hair.

"Yeah," Steve cleared his throat, then sat the pizza down onto the coffee table and grabbed his shield. "Well, I'll be back in fifteen minutes, try to save me a piece."

With that, he was out the door, and Natasha and Sam were left alone in the silence that followed.

* * *

Natasha knew something was off when thirty minutes after Steve disappeared, he had broken his word of fifteen minutes. Sam had noticed too, apparently, mentioning at the twenty second minute. Natasha felt like going to look for him, but she also didn't want to leave Sam defenseless if there was danger.

At the fortieth minute, there came a knock at the door, and Natasha's hand immediately went for her gun in the pocket of her jacket.

"Housekeeping!" A feminine voice called, and Natasha clicked the safety off.

"You think it's...?" Sam murmured, hoisting himself up and grabbing his own gun. Natasha walked swiftly toward the door, looking through the peep hole and looking back at Sam to make sure he was ready.

Sam nodded, sliding the balcony door open with his foot, and hiding behind the curtain. Natasha unlatched the door, keeping the gun hidden behind her, and put on a fake smile as she greeted the woman before her.

"Is this is a bad time, ma'm?" The woman asked, peering over her shoulder and into the room.

"Not at all," Natasha positioned her gun to shoot through the door. "It's just, don't housekeepers usually come to clean after the guest has left?"

"I suppose they do." She said, demeanor changing. The "housekeeper" violently shoved the cart of cleaning supplies into the door. Natasha flung the door back, blocking the woman out just as she drew a gun of her own. Sam ran out from behind the curtain, onto the balcony, and began to shoot upward. Natasha knew there were probably agents of Hydra surrounding the building on all sides now, coming from all directions.

Natasha dodged the first bullet easily. Just assessing her opponent, she could already tell the woman wasn't bread for guns. She must have been a hand-to-hand kinda girl. But so was Natasha, and either way, no Hydra agent was going to get the upper hand over the Black Widow.

Natasha kicked the gun out of her hand in one swipe, sending it hurtling down the hall. Natasha wasn't expecting a counter attack so fast though. Immediately, the woman grabbed her foot, flipped her over, and dragged her into the hall. Natasha flipped up onto her feet and managed to send the Hydra Agent into the wall with a kick to the stomach.

It must've pissed her off, because as soon as Natasha lifted her gun, it was kicked out of _her_ hand.

She got to her feet, threw the first punch, and Natasha grabbed her arm and twisted, forcing her to her knees. Natasha swung her leg up around the agents neck then, twisting sideways, and successfully snapping her neck.

One problem seemed to follow after the other though. As soon as Natasha dropped the woman to the floor, men began to pile through each side of the hall, weapons of all sorts in hands, and Natasha only managed to take out a few before she retreated into the hotel room. Sam was still on the balcony, although this time his struggle was different. A man had managed to make it onto the balcony, and from the looks of it, Sam was losing.

Natasha flew through the door and landed a leg swipe to knock him off balance before kicking him off the balcony. Sam was breathing heavily by the time Natasha was on her feet.

"Thanks..." He managed, nodding at her appreciatevly. Natasha was about to reply when the hotel room door flew open.

"C'mon!" Natasha yelled, grabbing Sam's arm and telling him to hold tight. Together, they jumped off the side of the balcony and plunged toward the parking lot. Sam screamed while Natasha threw her wrist up and launched a cord at the balcony. It hooked, jerking them to a stop before lowering them to the parkinglot completely. Sam huffed when they reached the bottom, letting go of her and shaking his head.

"Since when are you afraid of heights?" Natasha asked, taking off toward the thick of cars.

"It's not heights I'm afraid of, it's _you_."

Natasha flung herself behind a car when she thought they were a safe enough distance away. Sam followed suit, coming to sit beside her completely and clutching at his abdomen.

"You alright?" She asked, forehead creasing. He looked down at his shirt and sighed.

"I think I reopened the wound." He lifted his shirt up, revealing the stitches Natasha and Steve had woven in. A few had broken from his skin.

"Sorry." Natasha cringed at the sight, gently touching the wound. Sam winced, but only slightly. "Sam, I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Why are you blaming yourself?" He grunted, trying to readjust his position on the cement floor.

"You guys came looking for me because I was in danger, if you'd just left me alone, you wouldn't be the one hurt."

"Yeah, but you'd be dead. Neither of us could live with ourselves if we knew we could have saved you and didn't."

Natasha pursed her lips, turning away.

"If only you knew me, Sam..." She murmured to herself, looking out past the car's bumper. The coast was clear, and that wasn't good. Steve was somewhere out there, his only defense his shield.

"Sam, listen to me." Natasha tossed him her spare gun and checked over her shoulder one more time before turning her full attention toward him.

"I hate to leave you, but splitting up is our best option right now. Get to our car, get your wings, and fly to Stark Tower. It may take you the full night, but try."

"Natasha, I can't just-"

"You have to, Sam." Natasha pleaded, heart pounding. It's not as if she had never been scared before, but she knew she had no control over the situation. It was either save Sam or save herself, and Natasha wasn't about to let the man who not only took her and Steve in, but also watched out for Steve for months on his expidition to find The Winter Soldier, get killed.

"Alright, alright... Can't promise I'll get past the Air Force though."

Natasha managed a smile. "I'll see ya on the other side, Sam."

Before he got another word in, Natasha rolled out from behind the car and took off back toward the hotel. Steve was still in their somewhere, and she wasn't just about to let him take out all the bad guys.

Five men came at her in all directions, guns firing rapidly. It was all Natasha could do not to get hit. She threw a widow bite at the closest two, knocking them out, then shooting the one in front of her who had been blocking the path toward the hotel entrance. The other two chased her inside, and the people in the lobby went into a panic.

They managed to clear out fast enough, and Natasha was grateful that no one had gotten hurt. She ran to the stairs, flew up the floors, and shot down below her every few seconds to keep the men at bay.

When she reached the fifth floor, Natasha manged to knick one of them in the leg. He let out a cry, dropping to his knees. The other stopped too and called for backup.

Natasha didnt encounter anyone else until she reached the eighth floor.

Three men came plowing through the emergency door, guns ready, and Natasha flung herself up and over to the next floor by kicking off one of their chests, grabbing the stair rail, and flipping over onto her feet.

Not only did she get ahead by one floor, but she managed to kick him down the middle of the stair well.

The two men who remained, and the third one who called for back-up were still on her trail. Pointing her gun downward, she shot, but was surprised to find she was out of ammo.

"Shit!"

Natasha settled for throwing it down, bonking one of the men on the head and sending him to the floor.

Three down, two to go, and that wasn't counting how many other men were in the hotel trying to kill her.

"Where are you, Steve?" Natasha huffed, shielding her head from the flurry of bullets pouring up the stair well.

When Natasha reached the fifteenth floor, she finally settled for the halls, and ran through the emergency door. No Hydra agents were in sight, but there were cameras every ten feet. Natasha wasn't dumb, she knew they probably had control of the monitor room, but she had no gun, so there wasn't really anything she could do.

When Natasha turned the corner, she cast a glance back and saw the men running through the door, but what she didn't see was the one waiting for her.

Her neck collided with his outstretched arm, momentarily breaking off her connection with the air. She fell to her back, kicked him in the knee, and rolled to the side. He grunted, grabbed her leg, and dragged her toward him.

Natasha was briefly stunned when his hands gripped her neck, lifting her up and off the floor. While he was busy strangling her, Natasha was able to gain momentum by swinging her legs up and through his arms and around his neck.

He was out the moment she twisted left.

The three men from the stairs managed to catch up to her in that time.

Natasha kicked the gun out of one of their hands, sending it sideways and away. She used him as a shield while the other two shot at her, then dropped his limp body to the floor and rolled forward until she was able to sweep her feet under his and knock one over. The other shot at her, and this time Natasha wasn't so fortunate. He got her in the left calf, and Natasha responded by punching him in the face.

Both were out, but with a wimp leg, Natasha couldn't carry very far.

Hands moving quick, Natasha ripped off her jacket and tied it around the wound tightly, wincing when she knotted it. Natasha started at a light jog down the next hall, hoping to gain speed the further she got. If anything, she only slowed down more, finally having to limp because the searing pain in her leg was rippling up her body.

When she turned the next corner, and her leg gave out, Natasha couldn't believe her eyes when she saw who stepped out of the elevator.

"Steve!" Natasha cried, out of breath and burning. His eyes went wide, his body was bruised, and his shield was in his hand. He ran toward her the moment he saw her.

"Natasha, we gotta get out of here." Steve said urgently, helping her up and throwing her arm around his shoulders. Natasha cringed when she saw the blood stain on her jacket, but bit back her whimpers as he ushered them down another hall.

"Where were you?"

"Little busy, ran into an old friend. By the way, where's Sam?"

"Sent him on an errand, and you tend to have a lot of old friends, Steve."

"It was Rumlow. And I need you to specify about Sam."

"He's got his wings, he'll be fine, and _what_?"

"I know," Steve glanced at her before they turned another corner. "I thought Brock was dead too."

Natasha gripped Steve's shirt collar suddenly, yanking them to a stop.

"What?" He asked, shield raised.

"Dead end." Natasha felt sweat bead her forehead at the sight of the window at the end of the hall, and feeling her throat dry up knowing they didn't have time to turn back. She could hear shouts and yells a few hallways down along with the clanging of footfalls. Hyrda was coming.

"You ready?" Steve asked, bracing the shield out and away from them. Natasha gritted her teeth and nodded.

Steve was fast, and Natasha barely had to lift her legs when he busted through the window and sent them spiraling back toward the parking lot.

Natasha felt Steve's arm tighten around her, and at the same time she pulled closer to his body. It be a miracle if neither of them received a broken bone after impact.

Natasha could definelty feel when they hit the ground, it made her teeth and skull rattle, and it sent her flying out of Steve's grip and onto the hood of a car. Most of the shield absorbed the brunt of the fall though, and Natasha knew that was why, when she was fully coherent again, that none of her bones were broken.

Her left leg wasn't faring too well though.

Natasha barely had time to asses the damage before two arms hooked around her back and under her legs and carried her off.

She held tight to Steve as he ran toward the car, hopping out of his arms and flinging herself into the passenger side as he jumped into the driver's seat, fumbling with the keys.

Natasha checked the rear view just as they pulled out and sped onto the highway. One car and two vans, all three speeding after them and pushing away any car in their path.

"A lot of people are gonna get hurt if we take the highway, Steve. Try and find an empty road." Natasha warned, reaching in the backseat for the gun case.

"I know, I know..." Steve mumbled, running a hand across his face. "I'm still learning how to drive these new cars, ya know."

"Learn quick, we don't have a lot of time." She warned, loading her guns.

Natasha unbuckled herself, clicked the button to the sunroof, and aimed her guns toward the car.

She took out the driver in one shot, sending the car smashing into another and feeling her heart shatter at the thought of yet sending _another_ innocent person to the hospital.

One car down, two vans to go.

Natasha sent rapid fire their way, only to find the windows bulletproof to the vans. She cursed, and kicked Steve in the shoulder when he jerked the car sideways.

"Watch the road, Rogers!"

He yelled something in return, but it was drowned out by the whistling of the wind as they sped away.

Natasha aimed her guns downward, fired them at the tires, and got in one shot on the left side.

It didn't stop the van, but at least it slowed it down.

In the distance, above the wind and gunshots, Natasha could hear police sirens.

"Great... As if we didnt have enough problems."

Natasha edged her way up through the sun roof again, firing away at the other vans tires when suddenly, the side door to the van swooshed open, and out came the tip of a rocket launcher.

"Oh no..." Natasha felt her heart leap out of her chest.

"Steve!" She yelled, firing at the inside of the van, trying to take out whoever manned it. "They have a rocket launcher, we have to get off the road!"

"A what?" He yelled back, despite doing as told and making a sharp right toward the next lane.

"We have to get **_OFF_** the road, Steve!" Natasha yelled again, more urgent this time.

Steve tried to swerve away again, but this time he only managed to bump into another car. Natasha was throw violently, sending her up and over the side of the car. She managed to grab the roof rail before falling completely. Steve screamed her name, turning his head back and trying to somehow slow the car down while also trying to escape Hydra. Natasha felt her fingers slipping.

It all happened too quickly.

Someone landed on the roof of their car.

The rocket launcher was fired.

Natasha's hand slipped.

A teeth rattling explosion sent her flying back, along with several cars.

Someone smashed into her.

The car and Steve _flipped_ off the road.

_Darkness_.


	4. Ghosts

_Chapter 4_

* * *

_"In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves."_

_-Laurie Halse Anderson_

* * *

Budapest was a cruel place.

Natasha doesn't know how she ended up here, in this gala, wine glass in hand and hair pinned up. She doesn't know why her dress is black and glitters every time she moves, she doesn't know why she looks so much younger either, seeing her reflection in the window she passes. There is the sound of violins and muffled chatter nearby, a party, a the sun is setting just outside. She is alone though, and she feels conflicted about something. It's a feeling she never had but once until recently, years ago when the KGB sent her on her final mission. Natasha knew it too. Her final mission, and after that they would no longer need her. But she found a window, a way out, and he was-

"Nat?"

Natasha turned.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Inside of a the doorway at the end of the hall is Clint Barton, the way she remembered him in her earliest memories, and he is smiling at her in that reserved way he never shared with anyone but her. Though, it wasn't until years later that Natasha made that discovery.

"Thought you'd never make it." He admits, grinning at her as he walks from the door and down the hall, stopping and offering her his arm. She takes it, albeit confused, and together they walk into a ballroom.

"Where am I?" She asks, because suddenly they are not standing on the sidelines watching the people chatter, but instead arm in arm and dancing across the room. Clint gives her a funny look before laughing, and Natasha wonders what he finds so funny about her question.

"Don't really got a name for it..." Clint muses, and suddenly his face falls. "It's whatever you want it to be, Nat."

Natasha breaks eye contact with him to look around as they dance. She see's middle-aged men smoking cigars, beautiful woman with red lipstick and diamonds in their hair, and altogether no threats.

"Am I dead?" She finally looks at him again, and truly wonders if this is the afterlife, her afterlife. Clint's eyes sadden when she asks this, and Natasha feels something break inside of her at the idea of finally being... gone. Death shouldn't matter. Everyone died eventually, but... for some inexplicable reason, to know she did not survive that explosion, saddens her.

"No..." Clint shrugs, and the way he is so nonchalant about this whole thing throws Natasha off a bit. He was usually always a bit off though, so she knows she shouldn't be surprised. "You're not really dead, Tasha, just... in between... kind of like a dream. Don't know when you'll come back. Barely made it out though, I'll tell you that." He raises his eyebrows, as if to scold her, and Natasha's head suddenly hurts.

"Barely made it out of what?"

Clint grins at her again, and looks up before shaking his head and sighing. "Be careful, Nat. He's been taking care of ya, go easy on him."

"Clint, you aren't making any sense."

"I know, but you'll wake up soon." He looked sad suddenly, and his hand tightened on hers. "I'll miss ya, kiddo."

* * *

Natasha jolted up.

The ballroom was suddenly gone, as was Clint and the warmth of his arms. Natasha felt chills, and had to wrap her arms around herself.

What replaced the evening in Budapest was a cold, dark room. Natasha sat upright on a creaky bed, gazing around the only half-lit room and growing when she saw the I.V. needle in her arm. She yanked it out, tossing it to the ground and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. It wasn't until her bare feet hit the cold concrete floor that she realized just how exposed she was; only in a tank-top and underwear, no weapons, and a bandage wrapped tightly around her left calf. Natasha walked across the room before out stretching her hands and feeling for a door. In her search, and as her eyes adjusted, Natasha realized that the only things in the room had been her, the bed, the I.V., and a single chair in the corner of the room.

She found the door after a few seconds, grabbing the doorknob and slowly twisting it around and opening the door. Light flooded in, momentarily blinding her, and Natasha had to squint as she gazed out.

It looked like she was in an office, and seeing as how the walls were all concrete and there were no windows, she was underground.

Natasha stepped out slowly, keeping close to the wall, and steadied her breathing to hear for any voices.

Nothing. It was so deathly silent that Natasha thought she might go stir crazy.

Natasha stepped further out, coming closer toward the desks that had been flipped and chairs that had been broken and papers that were scattered. It seemed as if, recently, people had been here, and negotiations didn't go as planned. In the center of the chaos was a photo, and Natasha edged out to get a better look.

It looked like...

Natasha froze.

She spun on her heel, heart pounding, and stared straight into the face of the man who shot her not once, but twice.

"You finally woke up." He spoke, voice monotone and raspy; like he hadn't used words in a while. Natasha swallowed down her fear, taking small steps back. He never moved, never wavered.

"Where am I?" She asked, trying to sound confident. Her voice couldn't help the look in her eyes though.

"Hydra facility... Or, what's left of it." He motioned around the room, but Natasha only kept her eyes on him.

"Why?"

"They were gonna kill you. Couldn't get to... to the other one, in time. Don't know what happened to him."

He looks down suddenly, and Natasha can't quite read the expression on his face. It unnerves her greatly, because she has a feeling the _other one_ was Steve, and the thought of him dead makes her chest hurt.

Natasha hadn't a clue how to deal with the situation she was in. Amnesiacs were a difficult case, not something they ever trained her for. She had to guess on what to do next, on how to keep him on her good side. He had kept her alive all this time, must have had a reason for it.

"Do you know who you are?" She asks, the fear finally leaving her. He looked up, eyes dead, and gazed down at her.

"You get answers when you put the barrel of a gun to a mans head." He tells her, and Natasha agrees silently.

"I know who I am. I'm not him, I'm not... _Bucky_." He says the name like it's foreign to him, and what resembles sadness sweeps across his face for almost a second and Natasha can only wonder the thoughts in his head. "And I'm not what they told me I was. I'm not... a _gift_ to mankind."

His last words are bitter, and Natasha suddenly feels the full affect of who this man is and what he went through. She read the file she found before giving it to Steve, of course; Natasha wasn't about to let him take off on his own in search of the man without having some knowledge of who he was and what was done to him. It made her a little sick, looking through the procedures they put him through, how he practically _imprinted_ on the first person he laid eyes on each time he was taken out of cryo.

"Then who are you?"


	5. Identities

_Chapter 5_

* * *

_"Perhaps it's impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be."_

_- Orson Scott Card_

* * *

He gives her back her clothes, minus the jacket, and Natasha guesses he threw it out the moment he unwrapped it from her wounded leg.

She had healed since then, and had tested her ability to move by practicing combat in the room she awoke in. Natasha didn't know how long he had kept her in an induced coma, doesn't know how he even managed to do so, but doesn't ask. Three months gave him time to do and think, leaving the imaginable and unimaginable for her to ponder; but Natasha wasn't going to just let her guard down because he saved her life. He had, after all, tried to kill her at one point.

Natasha sits down on the bed and gives herself time to sort her thoughts out. Even though it pains her to think it, Steve isn't here, but she cannot say the word. She knows he had survived worse, falling out of the Insight, bullet wounds in his chest and shoulder and leg; managing to sleep for seventy plus years in ice. But Hydra's mission was obviously not to capture, they wanted to kill.

The last thing she remembered before having The Winter Soldier collide into her body was Steve, still inside the car, flipping off the highway into a ditch, the car aflame.

It makes her ache in that awful way, the thing Clint had jokingly said to her once (it's called feelings, Nat, and it just means you're human.) It's the ache she felt when Steve called her and told her that Nick had been shot and was in surgery. The ache that sent her driving down the road in a frenzy and into the room as she watched the closest thing she had to a father slip away from her. The ache that brought on tears, that told her there was nothing she could have done.

Natasha shuts her eyes and wills away the tears, because she isn't weak, she won't cry, not again.

She has no concept of time down here in this bunker; but eventually, Natasha becomes tired, and decides to lie down, back to the door. Despite the heaviness of her eyelids, sleep doesn't claim her in the darkened room.

He doesn't disturb her, never opens the door or even knocks. It makes her question just how long they have been down here, how long he has given her time to recover. Maybe a few days, maybe a week? Natasha guesses based on how dirty her hair feels and how much her stomach growls. She doesn't answer the call of her hunger or hygiene though, because all she wants now is sleep.

Sleep doesn't come to visit her, but he does.

•••

Natasha doesn't move, not yet, and slowly opens her eyes to see where the light floods in against the wall and where it disappears when he shuts the door behind him.

For a moment in time, Natasha fears for her life; she grips the sheets of the bed in a white-knuckled fist. After a beat though, he moves, and she can hear his footfalls retreat to the corner of the room where the lone chair resigns in the shadows.

Natasha doesn't realize she was holding her breath until he sat, and then the room was silent again.

It was absurd, she thinks, to question if he would attack her or not. Considering how long she must have been here, recovering, he had probably sat in that chair more than once, just waiting.

Clint's words return to her then, the words he spoke in her dream.

_"He's been taking care of ya, go easy on him."_

Natasha tells herself it's because she can no longer ignore the void in her stomach, but in truthfulness, she sits up and faces him because feeling his eyes bore into her back make her fidgety and restless.

"I'm hungry..." She tells him after some time, eyes downcast.

He doesn't move for several seconds, and Natasha cannot tell if it's because he can't process her question or if it's because he finds it petulant.

"Here."

His voice makes her jump at first, but then, oddly enough, it makes her relax. Natasha can't see what he holds out very well in the darkness, but slowly, she throws her legs over the bed and walks toward him. He takes her hand in the metallic one, sending shivers up her arm from how cold his fingers are, and lays down what feels like a nutrition bar with the other.

She tries to identify his face in the shadows, but soon retreats and stumbles only slightly when her legs hit the bed.

She eats it, taking big bites and wishing she had water. He must catch on, because he leaves, and then comes back with a glass of something and brings it to _her_ this time.

Natasha finds it off-putting, the whole ordeal, because not three months ago he had shot her through the shoulder in an attempt to shoot her through the heart; and now, he was catering to her needs.

"Thank you..." She manages to choke out between bites, taking a sip of the drink that tastes oddly like coffee.

When she finishes, downing the last of her room temperature coffee and swallowing down the last of her nutrition bar, Natasha pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs in an effort to stay warm. The chill must not bother him, because he never shivers, and Natasha thinks that might be because of his armor. It's the same as how she remembered it last, black and leather, but he no longer has his mask or goggles anymore, and his hair has grown out longer as well as his beard.

Natasha thought, briefly, that he maybe didn't know how to properly groom himself. That was probably something his handlers had always done for him. They could teach him how to shoot and kill but they couldn't teach him how to cut his own hair.

She stares at him for awhile, and he stares at her too, and there are only so many questions she has to ask him, but she settles for just one.

"What do I call you?"

He says nothing for a long time, and Natasha wonders if he maybe doesn't understand.

"A name, like mine is Natasha. Natasha Romanoff, and yours is-"

"Natalia."

She pauses.

"What?"

"Your name..." He says, and his tone is unsure and confused and she can hear him _forcing_ it to sound confident. "It's... Natalia."

The blood runs from her face, and she is suddenly grateful for the shadows.

"How do you know that?"

"I... I saw the files." He says it like its an obvious thing, and Natasha raises an eyebrow.

"Files? Who's files?"

"Hydra's."

Natasha knows she shouldn't be surprised, knows she shouldn't feel sick or shame. The whole world knows who she is now, the fact that Hydra has their hands on her life's story shouldn't shock her. But it does, and she wonders just how he came across this information in his killing frenzy; but the she remembers his words.

_"You get answers when you put the barrel of a gun to a man's head." _

"You didn't answer my question." Natasha can feel the hair standing up on her neck and arms and legs, the pinpricks of needles she always feels when danger is imminent. She tries to ignore it, telling herself there is nothing to worry about because he knows; or at least, knows something. Nonetheless, Natasha mentally preps herself incase.

"I... I don't know..." He admits, and he sounds almost _childlike_.

"How about Bucky...?" She offers, remembering Steve and the way he said the name.

"I'm not him though... I'm not him."

"Alright..." Natasha thinks, furrowing her brow. "How about James, your given name?"

He says nothing. Natasha takes the defining silence that follows as his agreement and tries to measure her breathing.

"Where are we?" She thinks after a beat.

"Hydra bunker."

"No, I meant where as in the States."

"The sign... said Long Island, New York."

"New York?!" Natasha asked, feeling her hopes rise. They weren't that far from Stark Tower then.

"James," Natasha said his name first, testing the waters, and continued when he didn't react beyond the darkened room. "We have to get to Stark Tower. You know where that is?"

"Close. But we're not going there."

Natasha thought she heard him wrong.

"Excuse me?"

"The mission is different."

"The mission..." Natasha said slowly, deliberately, remembering Steve's retellings of the events on _Insight_ when he awoke the second time in the hospital to find her at the foot of his bed. It wasn't like she forced him to spill, but Natasha wasn't letting Steve out of her sights until she learned why he had three bullet wounds.

"Europe. Hydra headquarters. Mission imperative."

Natasha felt worrisome, James was beginning to sound more like machine than man.

"You can't take out all of Hydra alone..." Natasha tried to knock sense into the amnesiac, tried to reason. "There are people, The Avengers, who are expecting me soon. They can help, let me just contact them. We'll go there and-"

"No!" He barked, and Natasha had to roll off the bed and onto the floor when his chair suddenly smashed against the wall near her head. She had no idea he would become this volatile when things didn't go his way, but she should have known better than to argue with the man who had nearly killed her twice before.

Natasha slid under the bed when she thought he would come and attack her, but he never did. Instead, James slammed the door shut behind him and didn't return until the following morning; or, for Natasha, what she assumed was morning.

•••

Natasha was ready for him.

She wasn't going to stick around and wait to see which side of his personality decided to play with her. She found the rafters up on the ceiling that night, climbing onto one and waiting patiently for him to walk through the door. When he did, and Natasha gave him just enough time to look around the room, she jumped onto his back and drove them both into the nearest wall.

Her plan had not been very well thought out to begin with, considering she had no strings to strangle him with, or widows bites to knock him out. Natasha neither had the strength nor the skill to go up against his metal arms abnormal strength. She was running on sheer fear, hoping her adrenaline would give her the upper hand.

She latched her legs around his neck and began a spiral downwards until he hit the floor with a thud and she was able to run out and into the open. Just when she saw the elevator, she felt a string snatch her ankle and tear her down. Natasha grunted when her face smacked the concrete floor, and proceeded to claw at anything she could to get away as he dragged her back. Natasha kicked his knee in when she got close enough. He grunted, and Natasha yelped when his metal arm twisted her's around her back and shoved her into the door.

"_Try that again, I dare you, _Natalia..." He whispered in Russian, releasing her from his grip and sending her to the floor, desperately trying to catch her breath.

•••

It was several hours before he returned to her, and this time he had a gun.

Natasha didn't have the energy to put up a fight when he grabbed her arm and forced her into the elevator. She was tired, and felt disgusting, and only running on a nutrition bar and a glass of stale coffee from the previous night, or morning, or afternoon. In the back of her mind, she wondered why he even bothered taking her, keeping her, helping her. Yes, she wanted to stop Hydra just as much as he did, but why didn't he want the help of The Avengers? Why only her?

They were questions she might have asked him too if she was sure they wouldn't spark his volatile rage.

Natasha noticed he would avert his gaze when she tried to look at him, and she thought, perhaps, it was his only way of showing guilt for their ten second fight earlier.

The top floor of the bunker was actually an abandoned coffee shop. _Must have been where he got the food..._

Natasha avoided his man-handling by keeping a foot ahead and stopping when they reached the door of the coffee shop. James led her to a car in the dead of night, a car he no doubt stole, and made her sit in the drivers seat.

"You have to drive." He told her, getting in shotgun. Natasha rose an eyebrow at his demand.

"What, you don't know how?"

"No. Drive here," He brought out a map from under the seat and pointed toward the edge of the city. "Deviating from the selected course will result in punishment."

_Ahh_, Natasha thought, _he just needs a ride_.

"Don't worry..." Natasha sighed, starting the car and driving down the street. "You won't have to _punish_ me."

As she drove, Natasha wondered how he managed to bring them both to Long Island when he couldn't drive.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes when she realized he had carried her.


End file.
